Murari's Promise (1256 words)

Murari, come sit beside me. I want to tell you something important. I hope you’re not sleepy,” said Govindan, a frail man in his late seventies.

The ten-year-old hurried to his side.

“Tell me, Thatha. I’m not sleepy at all. You look tired. Would you like a plantain? Rukmini aunty gave me two, and I saved one for you.”

The old man smiled. “What a thoughtful boy you are. I only wish I were younger and stronger. There is something you must know. You are all I have. Your mother, my only daughter, took her own life when you were two. She could no longer bear the cruelty of your father. A man consumed by vice, he abandoned you in my care on the very day of her funeral. It may have been the only decent thing he ever did.”

“I know, Thatha,” Murari replied softly. “And Grandma died soon after because she couldn’t bear the grief. Please tell me what you wanted to say.”

“Listen carefully and don’t interrupt,” Govindan said gently.

“After I’m gone, you will have no one except Rukmini. She is a distant relative and your grandmother’s dearest friend. She lives next door and has promised to care for you if the need arises. The income from my small piece of land in the village will be entrusted to her for your upbringing and for her own needs. Life has not been kind to her either. Since her husband died, she has earned a living by selling idlis and dosas.”

He paused to catch his breath.

“Shall I bring you some water, Thatha?”

“Yes, child.”

After sipping a little water, Govindan continued.

“My grandfather once went on a pilgrimage to North India. There he met a yogi unlike any he had ever seen, ageless, radiant, and magnetic. Overwhelmed, my grandfather fell at his feet.

“The yogi smiled and handed him a small yellow pouch containing a Saligram, a sacred black stone representing Lord Hari Narayana. He instructed him to worship it every day with flowers, water, and Tulsi leaves.

“My grandfather prostrated before him again in gratitude. But when he rose, the yogi had vanished.”

Murari listened with wide eyes.

“My grandfather obeyed those instructions faithfully for the rest of his life. After him, my father continued the worship. When my father lay dying, he made me promise to carry on the tradition, and I have done so ever since, until illness prevented me a month ago. Now it is my turn to entrust the Saligram to you.”

Murari looked puzzled. “What exactly must I do, Thatha?”

“Nothing elaborate. Keep the Saligram in a clean place. Light an oil lamp, offer flowers and Tulsi leaves, and chant ‘Hari’ or ‘Narayana’ ten times. Treat that space as sacred. Keep it clean and respectful. Will you promise me that you will do this every day?”

“I promise, Thatha.”

“Good. Watch me perform the puja today so you can learn. Remember, this is no ordinary stone. It is the Lord Himself in this form. And if circumstances ever make it impossible for you to continue, give the Saligram to the Krishna temple. Never neglect it.”

Murari nodded solemnly.

A week later, Govindan passed away peacefully in his sleep.

After the funeral rites, Murari prepared to begin the worship. But life had suddenly become complicated.

Rukmini’s little food business was growing. Her tiny house could no longer accommodate the increasing number of customers. She kept her kitchen there and converted Murari’s larger hall into a dining area.

She rose at four every morning to cook. Murari helped before school in various ways, fetching water, cleaning, and cutting plantain leaves for serving food. By the time he returned from school each afternoon, more errands were waiting.

Business improved further. Soon, Rukmini added vadas and bondas to the evening menu.

Murari was happy for her, but his days became crowded with responsibilities. Homework suffered. Rest became scarce. Most painful of all, he found himself unable to keep the promise he had made to his grandfather.

When he first mentioned beginning the puja, Rukmini asked him to wait a little longer until things settled down. Another fortnight passed. Deep inside, Murari knew that things would not change soon. The Saligram deserved daily worship and a clean, sacred place. Instead, it sat neglected.

Remembering his grandfather’s instructions, he made a difficult decision.

The next morning, carrying the small box containing the Saligram, he set out for school but turned instead toward the Krishna temple.

Tears filled his eyes. “Forgive me, Thatha,” he whispered. “Forgive me, Lord. I cannot keep my promise.”

The temple was crowded. The priest was busy inside the sanctum, and devotees stood waiting for darshan.

As Murari waited, a boy about his own age approached him.

He wore only a simple dhoti with sandal paste on his forehead. Yet there was something extraordinary about him. His eyes sparkled, his smile was enchanting, and his voice carried an irresistible sweetness.

“What are you carrying so carefully?” he asked.

Mesmerised by the boy’s presence, Murari replied, “It contains a sacred Saligram of Lord Hari Narayana. My grandfather made me promise to worship it every day. I can no longer do so, and I’ve come to give it to the temple.”

The boy listened attentively.

 “Will you give it to me instead?” he asked. “I will care for it with devotion. It will never be neglected.”

Murari hesitated. “My grandfather told me never to give it to strangers. Only to the temple.”

The boy smiled. “Then I am not a stranger anymore. You can see me here every day. Consider me your friend. I live here.”

There was such warmth and sincerity in his voice that Murari found it impossible to refuse.

“You’ll see me tomorrow,” the boy said, extending his hand. “And you’ll be happy to know that your Saligram is safe. I promise.”

Almost as though under a spell, Murari handed him the box.

The next morning, the temple priest unlocked the sanctum and froze in astonishment.

Around Lord Krishna’s neck hung a garland of yellow thread bearing a black Saligram pendant. The ornament had not been there the previous night. The sanctum had remained locked. No one could have entered.

Overcome with devotion, the priest fell at the Lord’s feet.

News of the miracle spread quickly. By midmorning, the temple was overflowing with excited devotees eager to witness the wonder.

At nine o’clock, Murari arrived eagerly to meet his new friend.

He searched every corner of the small temple. The boy was nowhere to be found.

Then he heard people speaking excitedly about a mysterious Saligram that had appeared around the deity’s neck.

His heart raced. Pushing through the crowd, he stood before Lord Krishna. There it was, his Saligram. Forgetting everyone around him, Murari cried out,

“Where are you? You promised I would see you today. I came to meet you and see the Saligram.”

At that very moment, the air filled with the fragrance of sandalwood and fresh flowers. Temple bells began to ring on their own. The lamps burned brighter than before.

And Murari heard a voice. “I am standing before you, wearing the Saligram you gave Me. Look upon Me whenever you wish. Your grandfather is happy, for you have kept your promise.”

Murari slowly lifted his head. For the briefest instant, he saw not the stone image of Krishna, but the smiling boy who had taken the Saligram from his hands. Then the vision vanished.

But the smile remained forever in his heart.  

 

Raja’s Redemption (926 words)

 Raja’s world was shattered one stormy night when a boat carrying his parents capsized in the river. He was just ten. Orphaned without warning, the boy stood numb by the banks, his small hands clutching the wet soil as if hoping it would give back what the river had stolen.

His uncle, a poor gardener in the city, took him in—not out of affection, but out of obligation. The man already had a brood of his own and worked part-time in several homes, barely making ends meet. His wife, overburdened and bitter, took an immediate dislike to Raja. From the very first day, she made him scrub floors, fetch water, and clean dishes from dawn till dusk. His meals were meagre, his bed a worn mat in a dark corner.

Though his uncle noticed the boy’s suffering, he dared not challenge his domineering wife. One morning, he took Raja along to the grand house of Mr. Srinivasan, where he tended a sprawling garden. With hesitation in his voice and shame in his eyes, the man pleaded:

“Sir, I have too many mouths to feed. My wife sees the boy as a burden. Could you perhaps keep him here? He’ll do errands, help in the house—he needs only food and a roof over his head.”

Mr. Srinivasan looked at the thin, frightened child standing silently behind his uncle. His heart softened.

“He can stay,” he said. “Let the boy have some peace.”

Over time, he became more than just a servant. His gentle nature, bright smile, and unwavering dedication endeared him to everyone. The lady of the house, kind and maternal, treated him as her own. He was enrolled in a nearby school and showed promise in his studies. Naren, their only son, older by three years, was friendly—at least in the beginning.

Raja finally felt like he belonged.

But peace is a fragile thing.

Naren, once bright and cheerful, began to drift. He fell in with bad company—boys who skipped school, watched movies all day, and wasted money at fast-food joints. He started lying to his parents, demanding money frequently and coming home late. They remained unaware, trusting in his silence and in Raja’s.

Raja knew everything. He saw the deceit, the growing bad habits in Naren, but he said nothing. It wasn’t his place. And he owed this family too much.

When exam results came, Naren’s scores were dismal. Srinivasan was furious.

“Raja,” he said, pointing, “does all the work you should be doing and still excels. What’s your excuse?”

For the first time, Naren turned on Raja. That admiration soured into something bitter.

Two weeks later, chaos erupted in the house.

A costly gold watch, Mr. Srinivasan’s prized possession, had vanished. It had been left on the living room table. No visitors had entered the house. Suspicion grew on Raja.

“Did you take it?” Srinivasan asked his son.

Naren, visibly irritated, shrugged. “Why don’t you ask the outsiders?”

All eyes turned to Raja. When he saw the master’s angry face, his legs trembled.

“I didn’t take it,” he whispered.

“Then where did it go?” Naren barked.

“Enough!” his father silenced him, but his voice had already cast suspicion.

Srinivasan’s eyes narrowed. “No one came into this house but us. If you took it, Raja, return it. There’s still time.”

​Tears welled up in Raja’s eyes. He sobbed, not from guilt—but from the pain of being doubted by the very man who sheltered him.

The family waited. Hours passed. The watch remained missing.

That afternoon, Raja sat alone near the school playground, his spirit crushed. The drawing teacher, who also taught physical training, noticed the boy’s distant gaze. He had always had a soft corner for Raja.

“What’s wrong, Raja?”

The boy broke down. Between sobs, he told the whole story.

The teacher listened in silence. Then he said, “Let me ask around. I’ll find the truth.”

That evening, when the family gathered again, Srinivasan stood with the cane in hand.

“Have you brought the watch?” he asked coldly.

“No… I don’t know where it is,” Raja said, trembling.

Fury overtook the master. The cane came down—once, twice, again and again.

“Ungrateful wretch! After all we did for you—this is how you repay us?”

Raja winced and cried in pain, but still said nothing. He wouldn’t betray Naren.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

A man entered—a middle-aged pawnbroker holding a small packet wrapped in cloth.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” he said. “I heard from the school teacher what happened. I must do what’s right.”

He handed the packet to Srinivasan. Inside was the missing watch.

“Your son, Naren, pledged it for Rs. 200.”

A stunned silence swept the room. All faces turned to Naren. He was crying, silent, and ashamed.

 Srinivasan’s fury exploded once more—but this time at his son. He raised the cane again, but his wife and the others intervened, pulling him back.

He turned then to Raja, broken, bruised, and silent.

Dropping the cane, the man knelt down and embraced the boy tightly.

“Forgive me, Raja. I wronged you… We all did.”

He kissed his forehead, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Everyone in the room felt the weight of Raja’s silence—his dignity, his strength, his loyalty.

And for the first time, Naren looked at Raja he had hated and saw not a servant, not as a rival, but a brother.

Castle in the air (901 words)

Vijay was always there at 8-30am in front of his apartment’s elevator. He was on the fifteenth floor, the topmost floor of the building. There was another young woman whom he found most days waiting for the elevator around the same time. There were many apartments on each floor, and he did not know in which apartment she lived. She must be around 25, smart looking, attractive, a bit dusky and wear her dress well to enhance her charm. He has never been able to strike up a conversation with her, as a few other residents invariably joined to take the elevator. He had seen her casting furtive glances at him. Vijay was a tall and handsome young man with curly hair that any woman would be happy to have a second look at.

The elevators were taking a long time to reach the top floor. It was drizzling heavily, and the sky was overcast. The morning paper had forecast a heavy downpour with thunderstorms. She looked at her watch restively and repeatedly looked at the display panel. There were none around. Vijay smiled at her and said, “Should be here anytime. The weather is scary.” She did not reply but with a faint smile, nodded her head in agreement. Emboldened Vijay asked, “I see you quite often here. I am Vijay in apartment 1516.” She just said that she was also residing in the same floor but did not indicate the number. Meanwhile, the elevator came. They were the only two occupants, and he pressed 0.  As the elevator started sliding down, he heard a roll of thunder. The lift was going to the thirteenth floor, twelfth floor, eleventh floor…..

Vijay said, “I am always scared to travel by lift during the rain. This thunder is scaring me. I am somewhat relieved that I have some company.”

Just as she replied, “I am also averse to using the lift in such circumstances, but I am in a hurry today.” Even as she was speaking, there was a loud thunderclap, and the lift came to a sudden halt. As Vijay swore “dammit’, the girl said softly, “The power must have been cut, and coolly, pressed the call button and asked for help.

She was told that the power had gone out in the entire area due to the rain and thunder, and that they may have to wait for a while. Looking agitated at the reply, she said that she had an important meeting to attend to and that all the papers were with her. Vijay replied, “There is nothing we can do except to pray to God for the resumption of power. It can take an hour or more depending on our luck, Miss, er. . .” Viji “, she replied.

They sat down on the floor at two corners and were silent for a while. Viji was afraid to be alone with this young man whom she had seen several times, but drew comfort with the thought that he was, after all, a co- tenant in the complex and appeared decent.. Vijay on the other hand was inwardly happy at the power break down and the prospect of spending an hour or more with this attractive woman alone in the small confined space. He had always watched her with romantic interest, though he had no occasion to cultivate her. He saw from the corner of his eye Viji casting stealthy glances at him.

 Vijay started fantasising about how nice it would be if she were Mrs Vijay. He told her that he was an IIT/IIM product, a vice president in an MNC bank, that he owned the apartment and that his parents were pressing him to marry soon.

 She looked at him with wide eyes and said, “Congratulations! What a wonderful accomplishment with a bright career. I hope a girl of your choice would materialise soon”

. Vijay took this as a subtle hint and was thrilled. He asked her what she was doing and was told that she had a PG Diploma from Xavier’s in HR Management and that she was with a reputed company. Vijay was doubly happy that if she agreed, his partner would also be equally highly qualified. He had already started building castles in the air.

 He moved slightly near her and asked in a whisper what she thought of him as an eligible groom. She broke into a sweet smile and said, “Which girl would refuse you? You are a talented and handsome hunk in a very nice position. She will grab you at the first opportunity.”

 Vijay concluded that this was an oblique remark to indicate her interest in him. He was on cloud nine. He decided to ask her out in the evening to take the matter to a logical end.

Even as he was rehearsing the sentence in his mind, the elevator became alive and started sliding down fast. As the doors opened on the ground floor, with many waiting there impatiently, he finally mustered the courage to ask her, “Viji, would you come out with me?”

 “Certainly, why would I not? How long do you think we should be confined in this sultry rat hole? Meet my husband, Ravi,” she pointed out to a young, charming man waiting at the entrance and waving his hands at her. “He is an IAS officer and a topper that year,” she added.

 

The Letter That Changed Everything (932 words)

 

Chetan rarely received personal mail. Most of what arrived in his post-box consisted of bills, bank notices, and glossy advertisements he never bothered to read. In fact, he had not stepped into a post office in months; life had long shifted to emails and mobile notifications.

So, when he noticed a cream-colored envelope tucked among the usual clutter, he became curious.

His name and address were written in elegant cursive handwriting. The letters were graceful and deliberate, perhaps feminine, though he could not be certain. Ever meticulous, Chetan slit the envelope carefully with a pair of scissors and unfolded the tiny square note inside.

It read:

Please come on the 23rd at 7 p.m. to the address on the envelope. A surprise awaits you. This is neither a trick nor anything harmful. Please do not fail to come. You will find the effort worthwhile. This may change your life in the very way you wish it to be.
— B

Chetan frowned.

He knew no one whose name began with B. He had no business rivalries, no hidden enemies, and certainly no mysterious admirers. His life moved calmly and predictably, like a quiet stream.

There had only ever been one great disturbance in that calm, and it is Swati.

He had loved her deeply, and despite the years, he still did. But Swati had moved abroad with her parents for higher studies, and distance had slowly hollowed their once-intense relationship. Their long letters became occasional emails, then just greetings, and finally silence for a couple of months. Yet Chetan continued writing to her, confessing his love even recently, though every message remained unanswered.

It could not possibly be her. Her name did not begin with B.

Another thought crossed his mind. He worked for a reputed company, earned well, and was considered management material. Could a competing firm be trying to lure him away?

Curiosity soon overcame caution.

On the evening of the 23rd, dressed carefully in a dark blazer, Chetan arrived at the address. Before leaving, however, he had prudently informed a close friend of his destination and instructed him to look for him if he failed to return by nine.

The address led him to a sprawling bungalow with a long driveway lined by old trees. A stern-looking assistant in a white uniform opened the heavy front door before Chetan could knock.

“I am Chetan,” he said hesitantly. “I received this invitation to come here.”

“Yes, sir,” the assistant replied with a polite bow. “We have been expecting you.”

Chetan stepped inside but paused.

“Could you at least tell me who this ‘B’ is?”

The assistant's lips curled faintly.

“Ms Bhumika, sir. A wealthy lady. Owns estates across the country. Never married.”

Chetan blinked. “And why exactly has she invited me?”

“I wouldn’t dare say, sir,” the assistant answered carefully. “Though I can make a fair guess. Let me only say this, that you are a very fortunate man to be in her good graces.”

The mischievous smile accompanying those words irritated Chetan immediately.

He was led into a richly furnished drawing room draped in velvet curtains. Sitting on an enormous sofa was a large woman in her fifties. She had broad shoulders, heavy arms, and an imposing presence, but her warm eyes and cheerful smile softened her appearance considerably.

Still, the way she looked at him made Chetan uneasy, somewhat like a tiger calmly studying prey already within reach.

“Welcome, Chetan!” she exclaimed warmly. “How kind of you to honour my invitation. Please sit beside me. My eyesight is rather poor.”

Reluctantly, Chetan sat near her.

To his discomfort, she clasped both his hands affectionately and rested them on her lap.

“You have made me very happy today,” she said.

Chetan attempted politely to free his hands, but before he could, the butler appeared with tea and cookies.

Gathering himself, Chetan asked, “May I know the purpose of my visit?”

Bhumika laughed heartily, revealing her yellow teeth.

“My dear boy, surely you can guess. It is entirely romantic in nature and, with luck, may end in marriage!”

Chetan sprang to his feet.

“This is absurd!” he snapped. “There must be some mistake. I have no intention of marrying anyone. You have wasted my time.”

“Please, don’t be upset,” Bhumika replied calmly. “I find you exceptionally suitable. I assure you, you would become wealthier than you ever imagined. In fact, I have no intention of letting you leave until we settle matters.”

Chetan’s patience snapped.

“This is outrageous! You cannot keep me here against my will. I don’t care how wealthy you are. I love someone else, a young woman named Swati. She is abroad, and I have been waiting for two years. Do you understand? Now, please let me go.”

He strode toward the door.

But the assistant stepped in front of him.

“Sorry, Sir,” he said gently, “you seem to be leaving rather quickly. Perhaps you should turn around first.”

Annoyed, Chetan turned and froze

Sitting beside Bhumika and struggling to suppress her laughter was Swati.

For a moment, the room spun around him.

Then she stood and rushed toward him with shining eyes.

“Surprise, is it?” she whispered.

Chetan stared speechlessly.

“I returned with my parents two days ago,” she explained. “They know everything about us now. Aunt Bhumika helped us arrange this little drama. We wanted to surprise you before announcing our engagement.”

Bhumika burst into laughter while the assistant grinned openly.

And as Swati wrapped her arms around him, Chetan realised that the mysterious letter had truly changed his life exactly the way he had wished.

 

 

The Hollow Applause (528 words)

( I have utmost regard for the medical professionals for the noble service they render true to their conscience and the Hippocratic oath they take. As in every profession, there may be a rare crook. No disrespect is meant to anyone. This is a story.)

The renowned surgeon, Dr Chandra, looked at Sunder, about his age, in his late 30s, with a poker face and spoke slowly. His father accompanied him.

” I have had all the tests done. I believe only an intervention by surgery would help, though there is a small amount of risk. If it is not done, there is a greater risk to your life. If both of you agree, I can prepare for it,” said the surgeon.

“What would we know about this? We would be solely guided by your advice, “said Sunder.

“Don’t worry. I will ensure everything is taken care of,” replied the doctor.

After they left, the surgeon’s second man, Dr Gupta, who was also a reputed surgeon with a deft hand, asked him, “Chandra, I am not sure whether the case calls for surgery. It is very risky, and very likely that the man may not survive. This is done only as a last resort when everything else has failed, and the patient is on the verge of death. I am really at my wits’ end. Are you not troubled by your conscience and the oath you took? Why are you resorting to this course? Don’t take me amiss. As a long-time colleague and friend, I spoke out”

Dr Chandra kept quiet for some time and then slowly started talking, “I am aware that surgery is premature in this case. But let me confide in you. I have a private score to settle. This man snatched away my sweet heart with his money and good looks. She was in deep love with me and very intimate till this fellow came into the scene.”

“Is it not murder that you are contemplating?” interjected Gupta

“No, it can at best be a wrong judgment. I am going to perform surgery professionally, and if he still succumbs due to the complications common in this process, can I be held responsible?’ said Chandra. He added, “I am a divorcee, and she is still charming.Who knows what can happen?”

“Sorry, I would not like to be associated with you in this operation”, said Dr Gupta as he left in disgust.

As a true professional, the surgery was carried out with utmost precision. Despite Dr Chandra silently waiting for some adverse development, luckily for the patient, none arose. The young man recovered steadily, making the operation a remarkable first-time achievement for both the hospital and the surgeon.

At the press meet after a few days, the Chairman congratulated Dr Chandra warmly while reporters flashed cameras without pause.

Sunder and his wife thanked the surgeon profusely before leaving the hall. Yet Dr Chandra did not fail to note the smirk on her face.

Standing a little apart, Dr Gupta watched the celebrations in silence. Then he walked up to Chandra and said quietly,

“Strange, isn’t it? You wanted him dead. Instead, you have made him live longer, happier, and more grateful to you than ever before.”

Dr Chandra forced a smile but said nothing.

Gupta looked at him steadily and said, “You still lose, Chandra.”

For the first time that evening, the roaring applause, Dr Chandra got, sounded hollow to him.

 

​​A Mother's Courage, A Child's Voice (732 words)

An old story for Mother's Day

Saranya invariably brought Anil, her seven-year-old boy, to the park in the evenings. He would play on the slides and swings for some time, and after that, on some days, they would settle down on the bench adjoining the busy road outside the park. She would show him the various passing vehicles and things and name them. Sadly, the boy Anil could not speak since birth, though he could hear well.

 She put him in a normal school, hoping he would blend with other children over time and regain his speech. But Anil, after a few days, refused to go as the other children made fun of him. Her complaints to the teacher were of little avail. As the boy was adamant, her husband felt they should wait for a year and coach him at home in the meantime. They visited all temples and donated to noble causes, hoping for God’s grace.

 As Saranya and Anil watched one day from the bench on the roadside, the buses and trucks whizzing by, a boy of six years came towards Anil and stood by his side. Saranya turned to see if anyone related to the boy was around and found none. She surmised his mother must be begging somewhere in the park. How careless of her, she thought, to leave the young child alone on the pavement of a busy road,

 Anil gave a toffee from his pocket to the boy who had nestled by his side.  Saranya was restless, seeing the boy left alone to fend for himself with his mother nowhere in sight. She repeatedly glanced in vain on all sides to locate her. Saranya wanted to go home, but did not have the heart to leave the little boy just like that.

 As she was thus engrossed in tracing the beggar woman, she heard a piercing scream​, ‘Amma, amma.’ As she turned around in great panic, she saw, to her great shock, the little urchin running towards the middle of the road with a big bus speeding towards the boy a few moments away. Without a second thought and unmindful of the imminent danger, she jumped on the road and pulled the boy in the nick of ​​time before what would have certainly been a ghastly accident and instant death of the urchin.

Only after she brought the boy​ in her arms to the safety of the pavement did she see Anil, all smiles. Her heart skipped a beat when she realised that her son had uttered the word ‘Amma’ for the first time. Filled with tears in boundless joy at the unexpected recovery of his voice, she hugged Anil and smothered him with kisses​.

She firmly believed that merciful God had restored his speech, while the doctors felt that it could be the shock from the very likely accident that Anil saw ​that did the wonder.  

Then she heard it​ again.

​“Amma…”

Saranya froze. For seven long years​, she had waited to hear that one precious word from her son. She had imagined it in her dreams, prayed for it in temples, and wept silently for it through countless lonely nights.

And now, at the very moment she had risked her life to save another child, her own child had found his voice.

“Amma…” Anil repeated, this time more clearly, stretching his tiny hands toward her. Her tears streaming down her face, Saranya gathered him into her arms and held him close, when the broken and halting words slowly followed, each one more beautiful to her than music.

People around them who watched in stunned silence found a beggar woman dragging her son and Ani’s newfound friend away from the crowd. But for Saranya​, the whole world had faded away. There was only her son, calling out to her at last.

Later, the doctors confirmed that the shock and emotion of the near tragedy might have unlocked something deep within Anil’s mind. Saranya, however, believed differently.

To her, it was not science alone. It was the boundless power of a mother’s ​instinctive love and concern​, that too a love for a stranger's child, that propelled her to save the child from an almost certain death, that had finally found its answer in a single word:

“Amma.​, Why are you crying?"​he asked in a clear tone.

And that ​word “Amma' became the most unforgettable Mother’s Day gift she would ever receive.

 

 

The test at 4.30 PM (1142 words)

Usha was a young divorcee. Her marriage, a short-lived one, was a failure. It was her mistake to fall headlong in love with a stranger and hurry into a marriage without verifying his antecedents. It soon came out that the man had a criminal past of various misdeeds, financial and moral and had cases against him. The wise thing she did was to obtain a divorce promptly. She had no parents except a brother living abroad, with practically no contact except an occasional email. But she had a very good friend in her college mate Ranjitha, who was happily married to a nice husband with two kids. She was Usha’s friend, philosopher and guide and whose advice the latter took on all important matters.

Ranjitha has been pressing her friend to move on with life by getting married to a suitable person. Once bitten, Usha was doubly cautious and was putting off the talk of marriage. She would not just listen. Two years had passed since she got separated. She was already 29. The previous Sunday, when she had gone to Ranjitha’s house for lunch, both her friend and her husband persuaded her successfully in her agreeing to marry if the right person came along

It was a month or two later that Ranjitha had telephoned on a Sunday to say that she would be sending her brother’s friend at 4 pm to her house. She would discuss details later. Meanwhile, she could just meet him and size him up. If her first impression of him was favourable, they could proceed further in the matter. It was not a date but just an occasion to meet and get to know each other. She also added that he did not want to meet her at a restaurant and was particular about the homely atmosphere. Usha was not very enthusiastic, but dressed herself well in a good salwar suit.

. It was nearing 4.30 pm, and the man had not shown up. Fastidious about punctuality, she was put out at the delay. It was then she heard the loud knock on the door by a stick instead of the bell. Annoyed a bit, she opened the door to find a tall man with dark glasses holding a white stick.

For a moment, she assumed he had the wrong address.

“Is this Miss Usha’s residence?” he asked gently, his gaze unfocused.

“Yes.”

“I’m Vinod, a friend of Ranjitha and her brother.”

She wondered how Ranjitha could send a blind man to her. Surely, there must be some mistake somewhere, she thought, but decided to let him in. She held his hand when he tapped the ground with his cane and led him to a sofa in the drawing hall.

Once seated, he kept the cane slowly by his side and asked, “Did not Ranjitha tell you about me? Are you shocked?”

“Not like that, she had spoken about you and your friendship with her brother, but had not referred to your disability. Pray, do not worry about that. My dad went blind due to glaucoma in his sixties. What would you like to have?” she asked.

Seeing him up close, he looked charming, dusky, with strong sinews and broad shoulders. But for the dark glasses and the stick, he would have been an attractive proposition, she thought.

 Her thoughts were broken when he said, “I would like a cup of strong coffee if it is not inconvenient.”

Before stepping away, she switched on soft flute music, thinking it might be more pleasant for him than silence. In the kitchen, however, irritation bubbled up. Ranjitha had put her in an awkward position; this was not what she had expected. As she was making coffee, she was very upset with Ranjitha for embarrassing her by sending a blind man as a prospective match. She wanted to give her a bit of her mind after this man left.

When she returned with coffee and biscuits, he was facing the wall, still and quiet. She guided his hand to the cup, but he fumbled, tipping it and spilling hot coffee onto his clothes. Usha hurriedly brought a towel and wiped his hands and the dress. She felt pity for him. She said, “I am sorry. I should have been careful and given you a mug.”

He smiled, almost teasingly. “On the contrary, I quite enjoy being fussed over.”

Despite herself, she smiled back. They spoke for a while. He told her he was a musician, adept at playing several musical instruments, part of a well-known troupe, financially secure, and living in a spacious apartment in a posh locality.

Vinod finally asked her, “Did you know the purpose of my visit?”

“Yes,” she said. “Ranjitha thought we could meet and see if… things go further.”

She thought he might not probe further. But he persisted with a question, ““And what do you think?” he pressed gently. “I have no idea what you look like, though I’m told you’re charming. I’m not very optimistic, and I doubt if I’ve made a good impression. I might even be a burden. “

She replied, “Please do not talk on those lines. I need time to think and cannot tell you anything now.” He replied, “I understand and can wait.”

As he rose to leave, she held his hand and led him carefully to the gate. Just as they reached it, he stopped abruptly and burst into laughter.

In one swift motion, he removed his glasses, tossed aside the cane, and turned to face her directly.

Usha stared in utter bewilderment.

“You passed,” Vinod said, eyes twinkling. “I wanted to see how you’d treat someone you thought was disabled. You were kind, patient, and never once let your irritation show, even when I was watching you very closely.”

“You, what?” she managed.

“I like you,” he continued, “Very much. And for the record, music is just a hobby. I’m a Senior Vice President at an international finance firm. I hope you won’t hold the little drama against me.”

“I am glad to hear you are a senior professional. As for your test, it was quite a performance. For a moment, I wondered if you were an intruder. But I also knew Ranjitha wouldn’t do something like this… which made it even more confusing.”

Vinod grinned. “So… can we start again without the props? And perhaps with another cup of coffee, you owe me?”

She held his gaze for a moment and then let a smile spread across her face, giving him a subtle hint of her falling for him. As she led him into the drawing hall, she quipped,” I am glad I passed your test. Make no hurried assumptions. We have just begun to get to know each other. After all, I might have to run a few tests on you as well.”